I looked over at Mr Henderson. ‘There’s got to be more to the story than that.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘You know how these people are.’
I paused to reflect, for a second, on what his definition of these people might be. Before I got finished with that thought, Mister Redhawk piped up.
‘Listen, Mr Moscowitz,’ he said, trying to sound smooth, ‘we were in the middle of some rather sensitive negotiations when Jody, here, showed up. We were just trying to placate her when you showed up. I’m hoping to conclude matters and be on my way. But …’
‘What are the odds?’ I interrupted, kind of amazed. ‘Who would have imagined that Jody and I would show up on the same night? Along with two Seminoles? Seriously, how did a thing like that happen?’
Suddenly, I saw Mr Henderson’s face change. I couldn’t tell why or what was going on, but something had shifted in his comfort level.
‘Yes,’ he began, very slowly, ‘Mr Moscowitz brings up a very interesting point. Why would such a diverse array of people show up at my little home here in Fry’s Bay at the same time on the same night?’
My mind clicked, and I saw an advantage.
‘Almost like we planned it this way,’ I told him casually.
My thinking was that a man like Henderson would have a fair degree of paranoia. I thought it was probably a trait of all rich people. They’re always thinking that someone’s out to get their money. They hoard gold and join the ranks of the misanthropic. Like Silas Marner, which was the last book I read in school before I graduated to car theft. I had no idea why this book came to my mind, but it did. Education is funny like that.
I could see that uncomfortable thoughts were playing around in Henderson’s mind. What those thoughts might have been was anybody’s guess, but, whatever they were, they were wrong. I knew that because they were based on a false assumption. The false assumption was that the Seminoles and Jody and me were all in cahoots, to somehow get his gold.
Henderson stood quickly enough to make Philip jump. He went to a wall console close to the bar and turned a knob of some sort. A grey light appeared. My guess was that he was looking at some sort of closed circuit television. He studied for a moment, the dim glow making his face look about a hundred years old, and then he looked at me.
‘Ralph is not in the lobby,’ he says.
‘Ralph’s body is in the lobby,’ I insisted, ‘only dragged out of sight so that no one can see it from the street. Or on the closed circuit either, I guess.’
‘You killed Ralph.’
‘He was in the way,’ I said. ‘I’m having a really bad couple of days, mostly thanks to you. So you can imagine how much more I feel like popping you.’
At that, I took out the police revolver and showed it to everyone.
Henderson did his best not to flinch. Jody took a couple of steps away from everyone pretty quickly. Philip stared, clearly wondering what I was doing. Mister Redhawk was the first to speak.
‘All right,’ he said to me, settling back. ‘You’re probably right. Go ahead and kill him. He’s not being very cooperative, and we can just take the body to the swamp. As we agreed.’
In fact I had agreed no such thing. He was ad libbing as much as I was. But for the second or third time in the past couple of days, I was impressed with the ability of certain Seminole people to play along with a line of crap. Because it was clear to me that Mister Redhawk understood that I was messing with Henderson, and he saw an advantage too.
Henderson, meanwhile, looked uncomfortable for the first time since I walked in.
‘You know,’ Jody said, ‘this is getting a little too heavy for me. Maybe I should just go.’
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ I said, doing my best to sound mean. She deserved it for calling Gerard a greasy spoon – I didn’t even know what that meant, but I didn’t like it.
Jody sulked.
Philip, without making any noticeable moves, somehow managed to have his own gun in his hand all of a sudden. He wasn’t pointing it anywhere, but it was clearly in evidence.
For a second everything threatened to come apart because nobody knew what to say next.
Then we all heard the elevator door.
Philip moved faster and more silently than a sudden breeze. I moved away from the fireplace. Everybody else stayed put.
‘Pascal?’ a voice shouted.
The next second, McReedy appeared in the doorway to the den, gun in hand.
There was another second or two of uneasy silence.
Then, quite unexpectedly, McReedy grinned ear to ear.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘the gang’s all here.’
I got a better look at his face as he stepped into the room’s light, at which point I understand why his mood was better. He’d shot up and he was back on top, eyes wide, hands lively, heart glad. This made him dangerous again, in my book, because there’s no telling what a hopped-up junkie might do.
‘Look,’ Henderson said finally, his voice cracking, ‘I don’t know what you all think you’re going to do here tonight, but you must know that you can’t just—’
‘We can do anything,’ McReedy interrupted. ‘We can do anything we want to.’
His grin got bigger.
‘I understand that you’re upset about Lynette,’ Henderson began.
That was the wrong play.
‘No!’ McReedy barked. ‘I’m upset about you.’
McReedy pointed his pistol with a very firm hand directly at Henderson’s chest.
‘McReedy,’ I said, trying to sound like a soothing ocean wave, ‘you have to try and think this through. You have to stick to our plan. We take Henderson into the swamp, where you and Maggie once lived, right? You show him your home; you make him understand what it was he took away from you; and then you pop him. He’ll go into the muck and the alligators will get a little extra fat in their diet. Like we planned.’
And in keeping with our improvisational connection, Mister Redhawk nodded, like it was something we’d all talked about.
McReedy’s head twitched. He was clearly having a conversation with himself, asking what the hell was happening.
As luck would have it, before he could figure anything out, Henderson spoke up.
‘Wait,’ he said to McReedy. ‘Wait. Who’s going to take care of you? Who’s going to take care of Lynette?’
‘Take care of us? You mean, like you’ve taken care of us so far?’ McReedy’s hand was also twitching a little at this point.
‘I really have to go!’ Jody said suddenly, really panicked.
‘Shut up!’ McReedy shouted. ‘Everybody shut up!’
This was a situation you truly did not want: two junkies vying for who’s worse off, the one who just shot up and might have been peaking, or the one who’s run out of steam and needs another shot.
I could see that chaos was about to ensue.
Just then, Mister Redhawk spoke softly.
‘I have a proposal,’ he said, like we were in a business meeting. ‘Let’s let Jody leave. She’s obviously distressed. Then let’s invite McReedy and Moscowitz to have a seat and include them in our previous negotiations, tabling, at least for the moment, the idea of shooting anyone.’
I instantly put away my gun. ‘I second this motion,’ I said heartily.
Jody was already heading for the elevator.
Henderson wasn’t certain what to think. McReedy looked confused. Philip didn’t move a muscle.
‘What previous negotiations?’ McReedy wanted to know, proving that he was not completely zonked.
‘May we all sit down?’ Mister Redhawk suggested.
I went for a cushy club chair. Philip returned to his place beside Mister Redhawk. Henderson and McReedy, only a little hesitantly, went to the leather sofa where Henderson had been sitting before.
Jody was gone.
The fire crackled, my martini was doing me a favor, and a general air of relative civility descended over our little group – like a shroud.<
br />
‘Let’s start from the top,’ I suggested, ‘so that everybody’s in the same ball park.’
‘Agreed,’ said Mister Redhawk. ‘The short version is this: our Seminole tribe is about to consolidate an agreement with the United States government to make our area of the swamp a national preserve. We, the Seminoles, will retain all hunting, fishing, logging, and oil rights to the land. Mr Henderson can, of course, oppose this idea, and he certainly has powerful resources at his command to do so. But, if he does, we have, in our possession, proof that he has a biological daughter and we will, with our own considerable resources, make a claim on her behalf, through our legally verifiable right of matrilineal descent, to much more than the meager swamp land here in Florida. Court battles will ensue which could last for years, and, as luck would have it, we have already secured the immediate rights to everything on the land in question for the Seminole people until all disputes are settled.’
‘Meaning that John Horse and Joseph and Philip and all,’ I chimed in, ‘they get the oil money for as long as these court battles go on.’
‘Exactly,’ Mister Redhawk said.
‘I mean, it seems obvious to me now,’ I said, to no one in particular, ‘but this is why you wanted me to get the baby, why you got Sharon to hire me in the first place. You wanted to take care of the baby so that there would be no question of Seminole inheritance. And you figured that my own psychology would muddle my thinking somehow. How you knew anything about me at all is a mystery, but I figure a guy like you can always find out whatever you need to find out to get what you want. That’s the way your world is. There’s a possibility, of course, that you didn’t want to be reminded of the terrible things you’ve done to Lynette, and McReedy, and Maggie Redhawk. You ruined their lives – and for what? Of course, this would imply that you’re human, and even your other daughter doesn’t think you are, so.’
Henderson didn’t respond.
‘All right,’ I went on, ‘then let me ask Mister Redhawk a question. If you’re about to have a deal with the United States government to make your land a national preserve, why do you need to deal with Henderson and his baby at all?’
‘Insurance, as I said,’ he responded impatiently. ‘I’m certain that when you spent time with John Horse you got a dose of his slow cooking philosophy.’
‘I did.’
‘He takes the long view of history in general,’ Mister Redhawk continued. ‘And in the long view, white people are not to be trusted. You understand that one of our great Seminole leaders, Osceola …’
‘Yes,’ I interrupted, ‘I know all about how he was tricked by the evil General Lying Bastard or whatever his name was. You and yours can’t hold a candle to me and mine when it comes to the never forget philosophy. So, you don’t trust Caucasians. Cool. I don’t either. Who does? Because they are, in general, an untrustworthy lot. So you think, what? That the government might nix your arrangement about the preserve in favor of big business and big money? Upon the slightest reflection, I’d say that’s not a bad bet.’
‘We need to prepare for every contingency,’ he said, a little more animated than before.
‘Yeah,’ I fired back, ‘if you actually could prepare for every contingency, this would be a perfect world. But things pop up – things that you can’t prepare for.’
‘Look!’ Henderson interjected, ‘I’d love to listen to the two of you go on and on, but, as it happens, I have to get to my plane. I have pressing business elsewhere. So let me condense this for everyone. The search for oil in these swamps began in 1901, and the first producing well came to Humble Oil in 1943. That’s my version of the long view of history. It has nothing to do with Indian squatters on land legally purchased by Humble Oil, which is now a part of a new company called Exxon, in which I hold a controlling interest. You can embarrass me with this baby, and with Lynette, but that’s about all. I can fight off this matrilineal inheritance nonsense in my sleep. And, in truth, find a man in my position in the global economic world who doesn’t have an illegitimate child or five, and that would be news. It would have been easier, and cleaner, if I could have obtained the child, but I’ve already wasted enough time here in this backwater sewer. So let’s take care of the final details, shall we? And then I’ll be off.’
He turned to McReedy.
‘I’ll provide for Lynette for the rest of her life,’ he said. ‘Shall we say a yearly stipend of ten thousand dollars, with a cost of living increase every two years?’
Before McReedy had time to answer, Henderson turned to me.
‘Mr Moscowitz,’ he told me, ‘I’ll offer you a carrot and a stick. Take twenty-five hundred dollars, a first-class plane ticket to New York, and the assurance that all criminal charges pending against you will have vanished by the time you arrive home in Brooklyn. Or I’ll see to it that the authorities realize that the Feibush Maskovitz hired by the State of Florida is actually Foggy Moscowitz, wanted for child abduction and involuntary manslaughter. I know your real name, you see? I’ll secure your extradition to New York, there to stand trial and most certainly go to prison.’
He stood.
‘As to the Indians?’ He shook his head. ‘Roll the dice. I know you have influence, but I have senators. I’m almost certain that your deal with the government will fall apart, and, even if it doesn’t, I can make a great legal argument that my company’s purchase of the land and oil rights should supersede your control of the swamp. You’ll get some land. I’ll take the oil and timber. You can keep the mosquitoes.’
He adjusted his coat, nodded to us all, and headed out of the room.
‘You forgot about me?’ McReedy asked.
Anyone could see that McReedy’s most recent shot was going wrong. He couldn’t focus, his speech was slurred, and he was on the verge of nodding off.
‘You’ve outlived your usefulness,’ Henderson said without turning around. ‘I’ve tolerated you because you’re family, but I’m done with you. You couldn’t even take care of this Moscowitz problem. I’m done.’
‘No you’re not!’ McReedy stood, unsteadily, and raised his pistol.
Henderson stopped in the doorway, but he didn’t even turn around.
‘Didn’t you think it was a coincidence that you ran into Jody when you left that diner called Yudda’s just now?’ he asked.
In the seven seconds of silence that followed that question, I had time to piece together an unbelievable puzzle.
‘You can’t be that good,’ I said slowly to Henderson.
That made him turn around.
‘Oh, but I am,’ he said. The sound of his voice was the coldest thing I’d ever experienced in Florida – or anywhere.
‘What … what are you talking about?’ McReedy managed to ask, but he was in bad shape. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Did you run into Jody right when you left Yudda’s?’ I asked McReedy.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I was going to her place to score, and there she was, right outside. Lucky for me.’
‘No,’ I corrected him. ‘Henderson planned it this way. How he did it, and how he got the timing just right, I have no idea. But he planned to have Jody visit you at Yudda’s to give you a little pick-me-up. Only the envelope she gave you, it was wrong. I don’t know what it was exactly, but you’re in trouble.’
‘Bravo, Mr Moscowitz,’ Henderson said. ‘I can see why Sharon likes you.’
‘What are you saying?’ McReedy asked me.
But then he dropped his gun on the floor and doubled over.
‘Jody gave him … what?’ I asked Henderson. ‘Too much? Something uncut?’
‘Roughly five times his usual allotment of heroin,’ Henderson said.
McReedy hit the floor with a solid thud.
‘That’s why Jody came here,’ I said to Henderson. ‘You called her, told her to meet McReedy, because he’d failed to take care of things for the last time, in your mind, right? So Jody gave McReedy the overdose and skittered up here for the payoff. She wasn’
t here about her girlfriend at all, or me, or Gerard.’
Henderson shrugged. And then he smiled.
‘I think that concludes our business.’ He turned again and headed for the elevator.
‘Wait,’ I called after him. ‘How did you do it? How did you work out the timing? I have to know.’
‘Sharon was watching at the window of her office,’ he said, hitting the button to his elevator. ‘When she saw you and Joseph coming, she called me. I had plenty of time to arrange everything – Jody, the police – and now I’ve managed to stall long enough in this particular meeting to let Sharon get away from the hospital to meet me at my private plane. So, what will it be, Mr Moscowitz? Money and Brooklyn, or policemen and prison? Please make up your mind quickly, I hear my elevator coming.’
I pulled out the police revolver again.
‘How about if I just pop you now?’ I said.
‘Oh for God’s sake, what good would that do you?’ he answered, impatiently. ‘I have people and lawyers who would set my plans in motion even without me, and you’d be a cold-blooded murderer.’
‘No,’ I corrected him, ‘I’m pretty warm right now. First time in a while, actually.’
I pointed the pistol. The elevator doors opened. I aimed. Henderson stepped into the elevator. I felt my finger on the trigger. He smiled. The doors began to close. And I never got a chance to find out if I was the sort of person who could pull a trigger like that, because Philip came up behind me and bopped me on the head so hard that my family in Brooklyn could feel it. I went down. So did the gun. The elevator doors closed shut. And I fell into a deep, black hole.
THIRTY-TWO
I woke up because I heard running water. I was in my own bed in my own apartment – in Fry’s Bay, not in Brooklyn. I closed my eyes again because they hurt. It was dark outside and still raining. I lay there for a second. My head hurt like there was a railroad spike in it, right behind my eyes. My neck was stiff.
Then I heard a noise in the room.
I sat up and turned on the lamp beside the bed. If I’d been a little more awake, maybe I’d have been startled to see John Horse sitting on the windowsill.
Cold Florida Page 22
